jillian million's well 'blog'

2010-06-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

things have been going lately--i feel this strange pulling though as if I might be going further down--two days ago I felt really--well safe, okay--but now i feel very weary and sad like I know no one and nothing like I just can't get it I want to run so far. i wish i hope he'd run with me. I really do--i just don't want to know anything know anyone not even what color is anymore--if you don't have a name for it it's yours isn't it.

tired of myself and all this indulgence

2010-01-14T07:20:00.000-08:00

I have been reading the coming insurrection because Jack bought it for me. I am very much into it I love the idea any idea of extreme manifestos. The futurist manifesto is another I enjoy to just read and love how passionate and insane they were how i wish to be this way. Anyway one chapter in this book appears to me as a reoccurring conversation I have been having with my self, rather conflicted insane ramble, for years-- 70% of german youth say they want to become artists-- the idea that everyone is something cool that what they are doing is great and smart and talented and well of course marketable. It use to make me hate everyone I thought they were all indolent over indulgent fools--I was of course one of them but better of course because well I KNEWWWWWW and was AWARE--oh how i have failed myself completely

I am a capitalistic american mother fucker and I am self pitying myself by writing it in a blog I am humoring myself and embarrassed and ashamed, maybe if I write this all down then maybe I will quit--

I want all these things to quiet and yet I have to purchase this go to this doctor go here start this do that in order to calm down--feel at peace-- its hilarious and stupid and i know every one knows but do we? Because its consuming all of me--it is me-- and now i'm scared

it's not just get a job get a wife get a mortgage have kids pay for there college golf when your retired die-- kill all dreams you have ever had work fifty to seventy hours squash all relationships for a hope of success by purchasing more and more in order to die of something the doctors still can't cure.--Its so much, well plainly, sadder.

where is the way out? Where is the crack in the system and how do I attain it? hide, become an austere monk, fuck it all, do drugs, keep on keeping on? Spend more money? wake up next morning, paranoia, zantex

sleep

back

2010-01-12T11:30:00.001-08:00

new year new posts--

i will again be writing in this stupid thing because my journal is eligible

plus i have to start actually finishing my fucking play

happy 2010

2009-10-04T06:19:00.000-07:00

Things have been strange but nice. I am trying to work on a piece of so called vignettes of the breaking moments nothing more or less I'm sick of fluff these days the actual story part. I am interested in nothing more than the moments every person shares no matter how old they get or how stupid or inexperienced or ugly or less than. we are all less than. Problem is who wants to see a bunch of absolutely true and depressing moments where people ache to have someone hold there hand. I was thinking in the end to have one person finally help the last person--or who I begin with to have the other vignettes be in her memory as if the stories people do share with us really do help us along the way if we remember they felt this way it could be some kind of armor that when we truly are alone we know someone once or even now has suffered in such a way--and by suffer i mean the moment when we either remember, reaffirm or just learn that ultimately we only have ourselves. Yes how depressing oh so french new wave of me but really. maybe I need to deal witht his concept too...

what's your problem it is not mine! no sir it is not!

2009-09-08T20:52:00.000-07:00

tired, but productive mentally--my mind has been in overdrive I am thankful but im sure tired. I have to find new ways to manifest who i believe myself to be-even if I am nothing more than weight-definite space--pushing through indefinite space-- honest and articulate no more guilt six shooting hoodlum smoking over indulged fakester pushers--why hate the ones who need it the most--

the will to change

2009-09-07T20:23:00.001-07:00

I picked up in the library the other day THREE BOOKS not even apart from each other--used books--it was a beautiful sign from well myself outwardly manifested through three of my favorite writers of all time

Adrienne Rich's THE WILL TO CHANGE

Joyce's Dubliners

and a collection of moliere's plays

I got to meet with joe Zucker which was amazing but I will post about that later because he deserves more than a fucking blog entry because it is the fucking real deal--what a wondrous and quirky inspiration I love his art his way of life and genuine sincerity...that may be redundant but when am I not?

Anyway I feel as if lately I wish I could sleep stop being in a god damn transition waiting period, but on the upside I am exploring such beauty in concepts--reading being in nothingness, Adrienne rich's exquisite and bone chilling poetry--

I think it is so interesting how much I latch onto words--how the order of such a system can bring us to such places not only mentally but physically-- the importance of words, they are under the illusion that talking effects GREAT results..or at least i do with the amount of words that I exhale a day--why can't i shut up? words are as a rule the shallowest portion of all the argument..when the distractions of the tongue is removed the heart listens.... hows that for a quote--from the oh so painful sister carrie--wonderful piece from such a terrible piece of literature.

how can someone lie to themselves for this long and still exist--if no one knows the truth of ones actions if no one ever hears or sees them do they really never matter? i know i know if a tree falls and no one hears it fuck me in the ass did it ever really fall...

i am so fucking determined to find out.

I am so determined to find out why legitimately fictionalized concepts: guilt, fear, judgment, hate, right, wrong, it all can have such a physical effect on me--can rule all aspects of my life

how can i run from institutionalized and a marginalized life I really know in my heart I do not want...

what do I want for that matter? What do I want to be--not what do i want to do but what do i want to literally be--human? spirit--water rain and the moon? or simply nothing but something that needs to exhale, inhale and repeat--a conditioned and ordinary structured human. I wish i could reject all my emotions--attachments. we all crave freedom--- where can I find it

je m'en fois !!!!

2009-08-24T20:58:00.000-07:00

I'm still into the Born Ruffians lately--it is just too good to stop its like the right "teenage" but i graduated college angst I need right now-- I got the internship at Tamarind Gallery--its a contemporary indian gallery which is amazing and eye opening-- and tonight mom and dad and I talked it was open and calm and i feel really grateful right now-- it feels nice that they want to support my decision to move to brooklyn and they are saying start! so it feels good. im drinking tea and it feels nice as well. I have been thinking about Dash Snow lately--it makes me as sad as it does angry to say Fuck you Dash snow--if you are an artist why am i not you fuck. It's not his fault but aeriously? it is fun in the words of dreiss to enjoy the ride of hedonistic drama that is his polirads or body of work if you can call it that. Anyway Greg is leaving soon and I am going to miss him so much I am really lucky to have such a grand and smart brother who is truly in everyway sincere and kind and the fucking funniest person ever-- I just hope he does well and that he actually is in bliss-- no one deserves it more. seriously NO ONE. Im going down to d.c. soon i think but im starting to feel old feelings of hate and a need for acceptance which really bothers me. And even the thought of James trancendes me into a hang over--tequlia, vomit, and stale beer filmed over my teeth, that moment when the breaks pull forward and your waiting for the release backward, which aches your brain and makes vomit rise in your stomach. I can't even think of him anymore--why can't he just be kind? I hate never knowing what goes on in his head--and its funny cause hes the only person I can't figure out so therefore I think hes meant for me? What am I a lifetime movie--I just wish we could be friends and could smile in each others honor--for real though no in some way where we both die a little after or one of us does at least--which may be worse

now kevin devine is on and therefore I can no focus on anything but the DOLCENT TONES OF MY FAVORITE GINGER WOLF MOUTH LOVEYYYYYYY

now i can laugh--

the last few weeks--

2009-08-23T21:45:00.001-07:00

Guns and smoke

2009-08-23T17:24:00.000-07:00

Today I found a letter james wrote me nearly two and half years ago-- thats how long it has been since we were actually anything and we still talk still pretend--it makes me sick, he makes me sick but most of all i make myself sick. I really miss the feeling of loving someone but then i start to think did i ever really love him or did I love the feeling? Did i love being able to never feel alone and if I for a second doubted this life or myself--he was there. I guess thats all it is a distraction. A good one at that. I'm angry and upset I resent everyone and mostly him, I just wish I could feel like that again for someone else--that I could also make someone feel really good--we could talk about everything-- how lame I know I know. I just don't get how things get so far gone--he wrote in a letter how much he loved to kiss me make love to me smell me or just talk because nothing was like that for him--no one or anything in his life meant more than our relationship. And the funny thing is I never asked him to write the letter or say any of it. I believed it so much and I still do, what I can't believe is how much on person can change. Where does all that love go? I feel nothing sometimes I cry but most of all I just begin to feel tears or that panic set in when you actually start to wish tears could come. I stare myself in the mirror less and less and every time I am back in this room the ghosts appear and I am all alone--I have to get back to oblivion I must, I must. Do we really have choices in this life? Why can't I be enough--why must i be a woman. Why must I crave intimacy, or even more to my shame, crave that ache of bliss in my stomach when nothing could be better than a look a look I know all to well. In the beginning-always--which inevitably ends--an adoring tempted look which tells me how much I am worth.
How pathetic can I be? If I know this all to be true--How can I still do this--An udder disappointment I am. What I would give to be a man, an island
i took these yesterday to remind myself how much I mean to the opposite sex--How much i mean in this life--I'm nothing but noise and fucking smoke

2009-08-22T16:50:00.001-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kveFPYbUek

I don't know how to put a youtube video on because im fucking stupid. i love this song.

2009-08-14T17:12:00.001-07:00

im feeling nostalgic because i of course looked through a lot of pictures-- anyway here is one of erika which sums her up so well-- i know you can't really see her but she is very hands on--even when she was little--this makes me happy and makes me miss when me and her were at the psych center EVERYDAY OF OUR LIVES--i hope one day we get back there--

a poem for the discussion on women i have been thinking about

2009-08-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

The Rundown: Concerning Self Respect

You are a pronoun.

There is One-woman awake-Three o’clock a.m.

A part of speech

Three cigarettes Left

One loutish light Left on

You— erased with a pencil.

There is One tattooed man,

A depiction of the expulsion—(Left) upper Chest.

Two ~~think~~ promise love.

There is one man at the bar,

One woman in the doorway.

Your smile burns

Two Cigarettes Left—

Left myself back with the phrase

I love

(Preceding the verb)

you

are not the fool

There is One-woman awake –Three o’clock a.m.

~~Your restless sleep is his restless sleep.~~

The sirens of city life are clockwork.

Your restless sleep is your restless sleep.

I is a pronoun

old stuff for the next two weeks

2009-08-13T20:08:00.000-07:00

Today you shout that the trees “don’t look any good, not anymore any hows, it’s not right damnit, it lost all that color.” I calm you down with a promise; I would paint them first thing tomorrow. I paint every leaf as if it were my own son —carefully like all mothers who coat fresh babies with lotion and light cakey powder. How can I set myself on a color— the mania appears to me as a chasing sunlight I have never experienced. The thought makes me laugh, how satisfying. I tell myself I make such glorious pigments—

I thicken handsome synthetic paint that is so profuse it clumps in, on and off my brush. As I sweep the leaf I send pillows of the finest examples of turmeric, indigo and annatto straight onto the gray cement. I look down off the aluminum ladder; I reckon the paint resembles the star scene I’ve prayed to see when I go to heaven. I once learned that the stars are dead—the dead are categorized into reds and blues and even yellows. You are not home and I am thankful. I remember that time we were both in the field. I am not even sure if it is true anymore or if I dreamed it up so many times to become a heroine no longer exclusively in my fantasy life. I recall thinking about something I had read

once that most stars we see don’t exist any longer; the stars have some how burned out—Hundreds, millions, billions of dyeing light Capitalizing my sky. “What’s on your mind?” you once said.

“Nothing,” I once said. I put my mouth to yours

Quieting the conversation. “Impossible,” you smiled.

Such a fool.

I remember that there was not a damn cloud in sight, insight.

“Nice Night isn’t it?” you say to me.

I thought my own eyes deceived me—I could see the stars even though they no longer exist.

I laugh at how far I am from that moment, how far we are and how far off the ground I am that I can see the paint like stars. I look up at the tree. I look down at the stars. I am in rapture, and I close my eyes telling myself to please remember this moment and scene.

You eventually come home. You are disappointed. You explain the trees are supposed to be green. You never look at me as you point to my stars all over your cement. And now I find myself, hands and knees, rubbing the cement free of any color remaining.

2009-08-12T17:57:00.000-07:00

i know im posting a lot tonight but its all from well today and a few weeks etc. neetika came this weekend it was a blast and i was so happy we had fun went beaching and bars we also made limericks haikus--

there once were the bunnies from the bronx that had rather large budunka dunks

they did a special dance

and couldn't find romance

they tried to find manz with a 401k planz

though they preferred to have class

they boinked every guy that made a pass

then we kind of lost track and got tired

we also did mean haikus but it was too mean about people we know-- it was funny and nice to see her but we both I believe freaked each other out we both graduated early and have no fucking clue no fucking clue and we have to get "jobs" or as neeth says a five year plan-- good thing we got drunk, drank pellegrino all day, cheese and bread- we always have a classy good time

post script

2009-08-12T16:33:00.000-07:00

it's a bit of a blur-- time feels strange lately and i have no active plan however I am hopeful for the first since i was maybe eleven--good news?

I have been reading a lot of poetry lately obviously and when reading sharon olds "sex without love" and sharon olds "last night" both of them are excellent raw and make you feel like getting up never looking back and never ever staring yourself in the face again. Anyway when reading both of them it makes me feel as if not matter what how far 'we come' we have no real choices yes boys and girls as 'woman'

What are the rules anyway-- if you set a scene in your own world, which in some way feels more aesthetically pleasing in the scheme and scope of your life (or rather record)--an exotic ideal, a night that you couldn't pass up full of foreign territories and an internal locus of control than it's okay-- and by okay i mean when you expose yourself in anyway which for some fucking reason we all have to tell someone everything we feel shame for (always the case with sex in america) than we can appear to have been okay with it than they in turn are okay with it. Thus, a one night stand where some white ass prick fucks you in no way that is satisfying the girl wakes up the next day runs away and does one of well i guess three things

1. tells no one and suffers alone

2. forms a romantic relationship with this person--fantasy based

3. pretend they are the frat guy too--a just like fucking people yo yah

no matter what the poison it's all in my opinion unfair and pretty dishonest. So here I am completely unequipped I feel as if how do you date how do you do any of it? And i mean I am no old fashion by any means but it seems as if you have a limited number before you feel washed up plus there is so much shame involved-- or maybe its just so much convincing--

now that im tired

is there a shipwreck near you?

2009-08-12T16:28:00.000-07:00

today I read "the gathering evening" by the wonderful and talented Alberto Rios--

" we mistake night as a setting sun/...The centuries it takes/ To learn what waiting has to teach"

this was enough for me to fall on the floor--I hope if I hope enough and love enough these words--these poets--poems--I will also become some kind of genius as well

east hampton, montauk, photogrpahy and menage trois

2009-08-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

im in east hampton staying with judy and (aunt sally sort of) it has been nothing but interesting and I will be updating the blog with the whole deal soon because the people I am meeting are strange and all over the map and I feel as if everyone who comes in and says or shares something with me is warning or manipulating my life in some way that I must listen to--i must really listen. Anyway all seems well in some way in this mind of mine-- ill be updating it all soon enough--

2009-07-18T20:14:00.000-07:00

I really am not the type of person, well to put it in a less eloquent way, to say oh well I just wish I was back in (insert lame and recent life stage here) but tonight I feel as if I really wish I was back on this beach--it reminds me of the moon--if we could all lay on the moon this way and remember that are breath proves to us every few seconds that we are alive.

funny thing is I actually remember how dead I felt that night how hindered and irritated I felt how bored and restless how unsatisfied

too much to say---too too much

2009-07-18T20:09:00.000-07:00

im leaving for east hampton to work in montauk--thursday. I am very excited and a bit nervous to be honest. I think it should be fun and really new for me--i like that feeling. Even though I get nervous very easily I crave new things far too often. tonight I am feeling a bit suffocated by everything. I want people around me when I am alone but I feel like i literally need to scream and throw everything in the room (where ever I am) and destroy everyone and all the tangible things in that specific place in order to free myself from the constraints of everyones thoughts, words, lives, everything it all just makes me so angry. Literally I feel so angry thinking about everyone. I can't even live my own life but I can criticize everyone elses-sick with everyone else. I can call everyone out but my own life? I have none. I am writing in my blog which no one even knows exists and no one would read anyway--oh on a saturday night at 11 pm... worst thing is the most consistent part of me is my inconsistencies , hypocrisy and inability to trust myself and my own thoughts I guess thats why I spend my days thinking about everyone else's mistakes. How am I ever going to feel this out? not even figure it out just put into something that feels less trapped.

where is this all going

2009-07-07T15:01:00.000-07:00

i have a huge issue with--i have a huge problem with commitment why can't i do this?

and this is not involving no mans-- i just can't seem to run or be apart of my own life in any way why can't i create my own reality

i'd like to be him for a while

2009-06-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

2009-06-10T20:56:00.000-07:00

i'm not sure i'll get use to writing on this but i do hope i will. I'd like neat way to remember a few things and to be able to type instead of keeping eleven notebooks in every back corner and common place I have. today it was rainy it it's truly been rainy, gloomy that whole thing for way too long. Today I dreamed I was in Argentina. I was just there in january because I am a very lucky person and got to study there for a research grant. I got to go to an exhibition for my beloved marcel duchamp, play chess and well most importantly lay in the sun. The sun made me feel so good--like it does for everyone. I feel like a little lizard on a rock, it burns a little but the good kind. I dreamed I was there today and got a sun tan--it was nice. I'm addicted to top chef masters now as well. i'm reading david sedaris' naked and I enjoy it and I have picked up Dubliners again and am thoroughly coming up with new enjoyment and insight, which is lovely. I take solace in the fact that no one, but erika (on a very lonely day or on my request) will read this and its freeing to be able to write with such ease of not being recognized but secretly feeling less alone in my thought process.

sometimes i wish i was all alone with no one to know what it was I really do. Maybe that way i'd know i was doing it for no one else. Then i float from there wishing i knew more people, gave more people a chance and actually cared for the ones i do know--not dread all three. It's been weird since iv'e gotten home. I think a lot of people in college share that feeling. You are always moving, but always have time to drink way to much and make horrible and therefore hilarious "mistakes" maybe mishaps could be a kinder substitute. Now im home and im really not ill be leaving here there or anywhere soon-- maybe then i'll feel safe enough to have some friends, or even "like" anyone.

and the whole gradating thing is a load of shit, which is no different from how i knew and thought it all was, but i can't help but feel the feared cliche i thought. How will i ever, and how am i now going to succumb to all the things i really don't--not even want to do, but have to or should want. something tells me this is not for me, and i wish someone would come over to me and tell me that they did it there way and it all worked out. Something even more so tells me this moment will not occur and I will never meet unless on dr. phill this person, and well i dont watch dr phill, and thus this moment is not even unlikely its not probable , and you thought those were synonyms shame on you. And believe me I dont want to be some anarchist but I wold like to keep my rose ring and laugh once in a while at a joke I really did think is funny. I wonder why im so god damn tired and I remember the dinner parties, jobs, lunch dates, bars, r.s.vps, gossip, bills, have-to's that make me want to throw myself into some kind of ocean. And supposedly everyone feels this way but somehow all we do is "this"--evidently this is life. and yes i can live it any which way i want, but if i want people in it even people i dont like all that much it doesn't seem feasible. So maybe ill just get addicted to top chef and this blog and not go out for a while until i regain some antibody for this sort of thing. Eventually i'll become immune--i have to.

i have had everything given to me--maybe not like a princess i'd hoped i would become, but in some way or another i have been given it all, and I still find away to defy any courage i'd have or had and run, tail between my legs, as far as i can. I visualize every time I start the car driving farther than I have before, and i can't help but laugh at myself at this hideous monstrosity of writing and do not mistake it for some kind of brodie prose--it's just a journal so I can feel sane.

my first blog post

2009-05-28T20:12:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure how this is going to work out--of course I am thinking about that though. I just wanted to start blogging when I had the time. Erika uses this and I use to love her's so now well here I am. Unemployed and graduated magna cum laude in three years with a bull shit degree in art history and no idea what the fuck to do. I'd like to mainly use this space to either write about issues that I think matter, funny stories and um photographs. . .

okay well i have to try and find erika and george on this thing

jillian